


I love you, I hate you, kiss me before I kill you

by newtmasdoesthedo



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Anal, Blowjobs, Enjolras has an arch-enemy even though it's 2014, Enjolras is really angry, M/M, Rimming, Spanking, and Grantaire is really annoying, rated E to be sure I'm not sure if it's more M but here you go, slight mentions of Eponine/Bahorel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 01:01:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2089818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newtmasdoesthedo/pseuds/newtmasdoesthedo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You fucking litte traitor, do you live to piss me off?! You know how I feel about The-“ Enjolras froze in place as he took in the scene. A giant sheet was spread out in the room and R was standing in front of it with a bucket of paint and a huge brush – oh, and he was wearing nothing but an apron. Literally nothing but an apron. “Who the hell paints naked?”</p><p>R turned around, smirking, and Enjolras felt the well-known rush to his stomach, mixing with the anger. R wasn’t conventionally beautiful. He wasn’t even beautiful. His nose was too big, it had been broken a couple of times as far as Enjolras knew (or so Joly told him), his eyes were slightly too close to each other, he was always sporting a five o’clock shadow (Enjolas had no idea how that was possible) and it was never evenly shaved. He had his little beer-belly, and Enjolras loved every little inch of him. But he especially loved that smirk, showing off crooked teeth, and by everything that was good and holy he adored his ass. “Well, according to you a fucking little traitor – I think you’re missing a point.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Enjolras and the nude painter

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. I thought this was going to be a quickie, but it didn't. Now it's a multiple-chapter-fic, and I'm not sure yet if it'll be a two-shot or longer than that. Idk, don't look at me, I really like this universe even though it's basically just modern AU.  
> 2\. [Anna](http://oneofacrime.tumblr.com), I blame this on you. So thank you for making me picture R painting in only an apron.  
> 3\. I have a [tumblr](http://drinkwithmegrantaire.tumblr.com) come say hi!  
> 4\. As per usual this is unbetaed because I'm a lazy fucker and I don't have a permanent beta because I'm such an unstable loser-fuck-up so basically you'd have to be on call all the time and maybe just get like half a chapter once every third month and then have to spend time motivating and encouraging me and tell me that it's not all shit, so sorry about that. Please feel free to point out if you find any mistakes so I can correct them.  
> 5\. I hate the last part of this chapter. I didn't feel like writing smut, but it'll bear significance to R's terrible puns later on, so I sort of had to. Idk when I got bad a smut. I sort of wanted to rewrite it but then I got depressed and I was like: Eh, not that bad. I promise the beginning of the next chapter is a lot better than the ending of this one.

After pacing for maybe an hour of the meeting, Enjolras came to an abrupt halt in the middle of a speech about how legally changing your gender was made too hard and looked to the corner of the room where Bahorel and Feuilly were speaking in subdued tones. His brows furrowed and he opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, looking at them while he seemed to be trying to make up his mind about something. After a short amount of time had passed he cleared his throat to acquire their attention. “Where is R?” he asked, raising his eyebrows in clear annoyance and crossing his arms. His mouth had that stubborn, angry set that told them that he was upset R was skipping a meeting. Usually he was just late. This time was different. An hour was definitely the record of absence for the dark-haired man who still participated even after he and Enjolras had started dating. Maybe even more so because he liked to get Enjolras worked up and take him home afterwards.  
  
Bahorel gave that short bark of laughter so characteristic to him and looked up with that brilliant grin. “Shouldn’t you know? He’s _your_ boyfriend.”  
  
The way Enjolras’ eyes shot daggers at him momentarily silenced the bigger man, before he sat up straighter and lifted his glass in a toast. “To R’s painting taking off.”  
  
Enjolras looked even more confused. “So… he’s doing a piece?” he looked at Courfeyrac and Combeferre for them to verify that this was not only news to him. They both nodded and Combeferre sent him a reproachful look. Okay so maybe Enjolras wasn’t always the most observant boyfriend but he really tried to be supportive. The cause was just more important than Grantaire’s art – it was more important than anything, and his boyfriend should know that.  
  
“Yeah. Don’t get your panties in a bunch or anything, but I kind of thought you’d be all over that. He’s doing a piece for Thenardier. You know the old goat wants to prove that he’s not a homophobe, so he’s ordered a piece from R.” Courfeyrac said, shrugging casually as Enjolras’ blood-pressure was visibly rising, the vein in his forehead starting to throb ever so slightly.  
  
“He. Is. Painting. A. Picture. For. My. Archenemy?” he snarled, and seconds later he’d grabbed his red coat and stormed out the door, leaving Combeferre to lead the rest of the meeting (aka. making Bahorel and Courfeyrac stop laughing.)  
  
A soft sigh left the Guide’s lips. “Only Enjolras would have an archenemy in 2014.” He muttered to himself and ignored Jehan’s soft, ‘it’s kind of romantic though, isn’t it?’  
  
  
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
  
  
“You _fucking_ litte traitor, do you _live_ to piss me off?! You know how I feel about The-“ Enjolras froze in place as he took in the scene. A giant sheet was spread out in the room and R was standing in front of it with a bucket of paint and a huge brush – oh, and he was wearing nothing but an apron. Literally nothing but an apron. “Who the hell paints naked?”  
  
R turned around, smirking, and Enjolras felt the well-known rush to his stomach, mixing with the anger. R wasn’t conventionally beautiful. He wasn’t even beautiful. His nose was too big, it had been broken a couple of times as far as Enjolras knew (or so Joly told him), his eyes were slightly too close to each other, he was _always_ sporting a five o’clock shadow (Enjolas had no idea how that was possible) and it was never evenly shaved. He had his little beer-belly, and Enjolras loved every little inch of him. But he especially loved that smirk, showing off crooked teeth, and by everything that was good and holy he adored his ass. “Well, according to you a fucking little traitor – I think you’re missing a point.”  
  
The blonde leader felt his lips curl into a frown as he moved closer. “Oh, am I?” he hissed, angry and aroused at the same time – which honestly was pretty common after he’d started dating Grantaire. Which also gave him a lot of make-up sex (and making up to do, because even though he was practising not being so harsh – and R was practising not being so obnoxious – they still blew up pretty often and when they actually got over the provoking and to the fighting Enjolras was definitely the mean one).  
  
“Yes, do you not see how much _fun_ it would be to have a painting hanging on a homophobic politician’s wall? Especially when I’ve been walking around ready for you to _fuck me_ while painting it – hence the apron, by the way, I like being ready for you. The lube’s somewhere between the paints, make sure you get the right tube, I don’t want to be shitting blue for a week. Also it’s probably very unsanitary.” R rambled as Enjolras closed in on him, and he let himself be spun around and moaned when he felt his boyfriend drop to his knees behind him, growling, “Let’s not take the chance.” And he whimpered when a small bite was placed on the lower side of his right buttock. Arousal rushed through him, and silently (because Enjolras would most likely lecture him on how perfect yada-yada he was if he said it out loud) thanked his stars for letting him have someone like Enjolras. He sucked in a breath (and definitely not his stomach as Enjolras’ hands splattered over it, nuh-uh, he didn’t) when the tip of Enjolras’ tongue delved between his cheeks slowly (and thanked his stars that he’d just showered a couple of hours ago) and whined (in a low manly pitch) when Enjolras stopped. “What are you _doing_ , you disgusting sadist, I swear to all gods, I hate you. No wait, no gods like us, we’re queer, I forgot.”  
  
“You talk too much. Don’t suck in your stomach.” The blonde ordered sharply and bit down again ever so slightly, making Grantaire squirm and slowly relax.  
  
“Fiiine.” He whined, trying not to feel self-conscious as Enjolras seemed to deem his efforts of relaxing worthy and caressed his stomach with rough fingertips, insistent fingertips. A low moan tore itself from Grantaire’s lips, and it was impossible to miss how needy he sounded. The only reason he didn’t hold back was because of the answering growl from Enjolras, who bit him yet again and pressed two fingers between his cheeks.  
  
“You _are_ ready.” He muttered, fingers grasping at the plug he hadn’t noticed until now, and Grantaire craned his neck to look down at him, grinning wickedly.  
  
“Told you. It’s fun painting for your nemesis-aaah Enjolras please don’t.” he panted as Enjolras pushed at the plug, and he knew that Enjolras was punishing him still, but he didn’t mind in the slightest. It wasn’t that he didn’t want it, or that he didn’t like it, just that he was extraordinarily sensitive after having walked around with the plug all day, and he couldn’t help but keen in the back of his throat when Enjolras stopped.  
  
“Are you serious? Grantaire, you can always tell me to stop.”  
  
An exasperated moan tore itself from Grantaire’s throat. “Yes yes, consent, yadda yadda, you’ll never hurt me no matter how angry you are, get on with it, Enjolras, or I might just start crying.”  
  
“Maybe you’d deserve it, traitor.” The marble leader growled, showing a side of himself that was so different and yet so similar to the man their friends knew. The dominance was entirely the same, Enjolras couldn’t walk into a room without taking control of it, but this aggressiveness was something entirely different because underneath the roughness there was love. Love that Grantaire, obviously, couldn’t see right now, but that was present in his eyes even when he was angry.  
  
Another gasp as Enjolras pushed, and Grantaire canted his hips backwards, trying to get closer to the other man’s touch, needy as ever, and he forced himself to drawl “Maybe I would. Maybe you could make me.” He mocked, sucking in a deep breath when Enjolras started to pull out the plug. “Fuck, what the fuck are you doing?” he asked only to stutter ever so slightly when Enjolras changed his mind and pushed it back in a bit harder than he strictly had to. “You’re going to kill me.”  
  
He looked back over his shoulder just in time to see Enjolras straighten up, and if he hadn’t been panting already, he definitely did now. Enjolras’ shirt was open half-way, his boyfriend having obviously unbuttoned it a bit because of the heat in the apartment (it was necessary if you wanted to paint naked, after all) and there was an obvious bulge in his jeans that Grantaire really wanted to get his mouth on. The blonde would always be one of Grantaire’s favourite sights, but seeing him horny and angry was definitely one of the better versions, which might be a bit twisted, but hey, Grantaire never claimed to be anything but dysfunctional. “Over the table. Now.”  
  
If it hadn’t been Enjolras it would’ve been embarrassing how quickly Grantaire scrambled to obey, shedding the apron on the way because he knew Enjolras wanted him stark-naked.  “You’re _such_ a power-hungry dictator, angry because I’m fraternizing with the enemy, it’s fucking ri _dic_ ulous.”  
  
Okay so maybe now he was just taunting Enjolras because he knew what would come after, but contrary to Enjolras’ beliefs Grantaire had known exactly how worked up this would get him, and the thought of doing everything debauched while painting this picture was his own little, private joke. “Come on, Enjolras, establish your dominance. Show me who’s-OUCH, how about a warning next time?”  
  
By Enjolras’ growl Grantaire derived that he’d struck a nerve – by the next three slaps he deduced that Enjolras wasn’t in the mood for any more crap now. Which was probably fine, because Grantaire’s powers of eloquence were quickly deteriorating. He clutched at the edge of the table until his knuckles turned white, pressing his forehead toward the cool wood as Enjolras delivered another two slaps to his cheeks, then another two, and two more, and thus it went on for quite a while, leaving Grantaire leaking and breathless. “Please fuck me.” Was all he could manage after having lost count of the slaps, and his voice sounded broken even to himself. Which was probably what caused Enjolras to freeze in place (which was conveniently nestled between Grantaire’s cheeks, thankfully wearing linen-trousers, ‘cause jeans would’ve been downright painful right now).  
  
“R?” the blonde asked, and Grantaire could already hear the hesitation in his voice.  
  
“Hey, just back off a bit, I’m fine, I just really need you right now okay? You didn’t hurt me.” He tried to reassure his boyfriend, not sure if he was succeeding because he couldn’t turn around properly for him to see Enjolras’ face and for Enjolras to see his. “I’m good, I promise, I’m really fine. Can we please just have sex right now?”  
  
“No.” was the only answer he got, and a groan left his lips. Damn it. Now he’d set off Enjolras’ insecurities and they’d have to go through at least ten minutes of reassurance that he was okay and that Enjolras had done nothing wrong, and after that both of their boners would probably have- oh. Oh. Enjolras appeared to have decided to apologize in a completely different way after having slid his hand under Grantaire’s hips and felt his erection. He filed that way of reassuring his boyfriend for further use and closed his eyes, worrying his lower lip between his teeth, when Enjolras removed the plug completely this time, and when soft fingertips graced his sore buttocks a huge shiver wrecked his entire body because at the same time there was Enjolras’ tongue softly pushing against the rim of his entrance. “Fuck-fuck-fuck, Enjolras, if you keep doing that I swear to God, I’ll come in a minute.” He gasped, feeling like he was chanting more than anything. Enjolras rarely did this, not because he was selfish, just because Grantaire was a huge slut and usually dropped to his knees before Enjolras could get a word in edgewise. He’d have to work on his patience-problems because this was fucking incredible and he’d almost forgotten how skilled Enjolras’ tongue was with the sexstuff because hot damn he knew how to rim as well as he knew how to speak and it was driving Grantaire absolutely out of his mind. It was a good thing Enjolras’ had his hands on the cynic’s hips because if he hadn’t Grantaire would definitely have suffocated him with his ass already. “So I’m assuming that you’re not- ah, don’t bite, you jerk – that you’re not angry any- I said don’t _bite_ you prissy little- okay fine, you’re obviously still angry.” he forced out, moans punctuating his sentence every so often because this was seriously the hottest thing he’d experienced in a long time and it was coming to an end way too soon. “Enjolras really, I need you to stop right now, or I’ll come all over my sketches.”  
  
When Enjolras actually stopped, Grantaire was a little miffed – not because he didn’t want him to, he wanted to, really, by now he was close to desperate to get Enjolras in him, and seeing as the other man hadn’t touched his cock save to make sure he hadn’t hurt him, it’d be embarrassing to come right now, only from Enjolras’ (albeit thorough) spanking and the tongue in his ass. “Enjolras, what are you…” he started asking when Enjolras helped him up (not entirely gentle in his movements) and he fought to get his breathing under control, grasping for some semblance of control over himself as he was manhandled (oh God this was too hot, next time Enjolras was going away for the cause he’d have to replay this in his mind, this would be masturbation-material for months, it was glorious) in front of his painting.  
  
“You asked me to stop.” He pointed out, letting go of Grantaire who instantly turned around and looked at his boyfriends face, a harsh look re-entering his face at the sight of the painting. “And I’m going to fuck you up against that picture in about five seconds unless you tell me not to.” He pointed out, and his voice bore no argument. Grantaire felt his expression slip into a smile and he shook his head.  
  
“No.” he merely said, watching as Enjolras’ eyebrows arched, and biting his lower lip. He thought about elaborating, telling Enjolras that he wanted to suck him off in front of it first, but deciding against it and instead he moved in close, pressing his lips to Enjolras’ and popping the button and fly of his jeans open before sinking to his knees, still painfully hard and starting to wrap his hand around his shaft.  
  
Enjolras’ eyes flashed. “Don’t.” he warned, and goosebumps broke out on Grantaire’s skin as his hand froze. “You don’t get to touch yourself, R. I’m still angry with you.” Enjolras pointed out sternly, and the cynic nearly came just listening to him. The strained moan that left his lips next had Enjolras’ fingers clenching in his hair and Grantaire wasn’t the least bit sorry about his position as he mouthed warmly at Enjolras’ cock through his boxers.  
  
“I’ve been thinking about this all day.” He confessed softly, straining to keep from touching himself, and digging his hands into the backs of Enjolras’ thighs instead because he needed something, anything, to keep him grounded and make sure he didn’t end up touching himself anyway. Enjolras’ acknowledged his comment with a shallow thrust of his hips and Grantaire closed his eyes, relaxed his throat and hummed softly, encouraging Enjolras to fuck his mouth, a silent offer that Enjolras took him up on instantly to Grantaire’s great pleasure. It didn’t take long of Enjolras’ thrusting and Grantaire’s soft moaning before the blonde pulled out and with a soft jerk of his head implied that Grantaire should stand up. The painter suspected that Enjolras didn’t trust his own voice, and he liked that thought immensely. With shaking hands he scrambled for the box of paints and fumbled around with them until he found the right one, noting that he shouldn’t carelessly throw the lube between the paints next time because it took too long to find the right one, and he pressed it into Enjolras’ hands eagerly, making his way towards his bedroom as he’d already forgotten in his impatience that Enjolras had other plans. Which forced the other man to grab him by both wrists and push him in the other direction. “I’m still fucking you against the picture.”  
  
That was all the warning Grantaire got before Enjolras’ caught his wrists in one hand and pushed them against the canvas, seemingly unconcerned with the fact that the paint was still wet and they’d leave handprints – _fuck, maybe that’s what he wanted, the bastard_ – R realized, making a note to not remove them afterwards. He could feel himself tremble under Enjolras’ touch as his lover popped the lube open with one hand, leaning in and bit at the shell of his ear softly saying “Don’t move.” Before letting go of Grantaire’s hands (and Grantaire could do nothing but obey, way too desperate to be a tease right now) and covering two fingers in lube. Grantaire thanked past!R for walking around with that damn plug all day because fuck, he would die if he was to wait much longer and Enjolras’ fingers slipped inside him with ease, scissoring and flexing already and it was all he could do but to press against him.


	2. Enjolras and the terrible sex-puns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Lovely, I drew up a contract – you can understand that since I said no to other commissions to do this I’ll want to be certain the money’s all mine.” He pointed out, pulling from his pocket a “contract” written on a crumbled magazine-page. He straightened it out neatly and put it against the wall. Thenardier’s face visibly drained of colour when he saw what was pictured on the page. A couple of semi-naked men in a warm embrace, passionately kissing. “Sorry, I didn’t have anything else.” Grantaire said, his grin making it quite obvious that it was a massive lie, and he heard Enjolras snort with laughter next to him, obviously starting to enjoy himself. The set of Thenardier’s jaw told Grantaire that he was seconds form imploding, and he was enjoying himself more than he had in a long time (not for lack of trying on Enjolras’ part, their sex-life had been fantastic with all that anger Enjolras was taking out on his ass – literally.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Once again unbetaed because I was really excited about this. If you know a beta that might put up with my shit please let me know, I'd love to get me one.  
> 2\. Grantaire makes a lot of shitty puns, I'm not sorry.  
> 3\. I sort of remember putting some Danish words in here at some point because I was writing on the plane and couldn't remember the English words, but I can't find them after reading it through, so if you stumble upon them or any other mistakes please let me know.  
> 4\. This chapter is for my LOVELY Tumblr-followers because I reached 500 yesterday, and seeing as I'm pretty certain most of them are following me because of either Les Mis or social justice or both this felt like the right thing to post. You are all amazing and lovely and I'm so happy about all of you.

Another day, another grand speech, another reproachful look. Just as things always were – except no Grantaire. It had been a couple of weeks since he’d last missed a meeting and of course Enjolras knew why he was absent. He was having the damn showing of his recent pictures at the gallery at which Thenardier would be buying the traitorous canvas that Enjolras had innocently tried to destroy several times. The times he’d “spilt” coffee, the times he’d made Grantaire come moaning all over it in his frustration, none of them made a difference because every time Grantaire claimed to like the picture better than before. He fixed what needed fixing (most of it he didn’t fix, which Enjolras honestly didn’t understand) and in the end the picture had… well, it had become a thing of beauty and chaos and passion, much like themselves, as Grantaire had remarked in a fit of poetry-waxing worthy of only the dear Jean Prouvaire. Who was also sending him reproachful looks. Lovely. He and Combeferre seemed to have been teaming up lately. Enjolras hated it. Combeferre could make him see reason, Jehan could make him see emotion, and Courfeyrac could make him see compassion – teaming up had made them a force of nature, and Enjolras… well, he wasn’t sure what was going on between the three of them, but the effect they had on _him_ was definitely not as enjoyable as whatever they seemed to be participating in.  
  
The personal part of it did not concern him, so he bit back his _“What?!”_ and communicated it to the Centre instead. Courfeyrac shrugged and put his arm around Jehan. Enjolras sighed deeply, knowing that he’d be expected to keep looking. So he went on to the poet, who looked at him with a look that would have made the hardest man weep. He looked like a kicked puppy. Or maybe like he was blaming Enjolras for kicking a puppy. The queer friendship he had with Grantaire was pretty much as though Grantaire was a puppy, not in a way that he was the least bit submissive or playful, but that Jehan guarded him as though he was an innocent pup. Jehan seemed to see something sensitive, something to be protected at all cost in Grantaire, and at times it bothered Enjolras because deep down he probably knew that he should see it too. Grantaire just made it hard, and Enjolras wasn’t one to dig in the matters of emotions. He preferred communication – and prompt at that, without having to ask several times if the painter was okay. It was how he worked, Grantaire knew it, and as little as Grantaire could change his incorrigible need to provoke Enjolras, Enjolras could neither change his way of looking at things. He didn’t want to either. His way was easily the least complicated way to have a relationship and Grantaire knew it. He stared back at Jehan unflinchingly before moving on to Combeferre, who merely arched an eyebrow.  
  
“Cat got your tongue?” he asked, uncharacteristic in downright challenging Enjolras in front of everyone. Usually Combeferre was gentler.  
  
Enjolras drew a breath and continued his speech without paying the guide any heed, throwing himself into a passionate rant yet again – until his eyes caught Bossuet and Joly. Who were glaring at him. Like, glaring daggers. Unlike they’d ever done before. “Can I help you?” he asked, wavering only slightly.  
  
Bossuet looked at Joly. Joly looked at Bossuet. Musichetta pinched both of them under the table while staring back at Enjolras, and it felt like fire. It felt like she was trying to burn her way through him and make him suffer with her glare alone. It almost worked. If Enjolras was ever going to be terrified by anyone it would be Musichetta (or maybe Eponine, who wasn’t present either, probably at Grantaire’s stupid show).  
  
“Enjolras, he-“  
“You should be-“  
  
Her boyfriends started, and Musichetta rolled her eyes softly at them. “Enjolras, a word?”  
  
Enjolras blinked. Did he want to be alone in a room with an angry Musichetta? No. Definitely not. “Can it wait?”  
  
She answered without missing a beat. “No.”  
  
Was it natural not to blink at all for this long? Enjolras was certain she’d need to blink soon, staring to count inside his head, wondering if she had a condition he’d never heard of that prevented her from blinking as much as everybody else. “I’m in the middle of –“  
  
“So am I. I believe you can spare a minute.” The brunette said pointedly, her tone as sharp as the tip of a spear.  
  
The chief sunk a lump and nodded. “Yes. Combeferre, would you be so kind –“  
  
And Combeferre started speaking as soon as Enjolras asked it of him, having already taken his place next to the marble leader. He was softer in his tone. He’d always been softer than Enjolras, more fair some would say, easier on people. Where Enjolras was passion, Combeferre was reason. Where Enjolras was kicking down the door, Combeferre was knocking. Where Enjolras was violence, Combeferre was dialogue, Combeferre was communication, and Combeferre was Enjolras’ anchor to the real world. Combeferre was the reason Enjolras was still a free man.  
  
“Um…” Enjolras started as he and Musichetta had made their way into the next room.  
  
A single look from the Italian silenced him as nothing else could. “Bahorel is absent. Eponine is absent. You know why.” She said, and Enjolras nodded mutely. “We’ve been planning your early demise. You may still prevent us from binding you and throwing you in the Seine if you get your ass to his gallery opening. You know it means a lot to him. Bahorel’s got the strength, Joly and Bossuet can cover up our tracks, we have a lawyer and a doctor, and Ep and me… well, you don’t want to know what we’ve got planned for you.” She pointed out, arching an eyebrow as though to ask if Enjolras understood. The blonde narrowed his eyes.  
  
“Musichetta, we both know you’re not serious. I understand that you’d like me to support Grantaire, but why aren’t you there? He knows how I feel about this.”  
  
Musichetta held up a hand halfway through the sentence but let Enjolras finish speaking anyway. “We’re leaving if I don’t convince you now. It’s already been planned. I haven’t talked to him, but I have a feeling that Jehan will go too. Combeferre and Courfeyrac wouldn’t hold it against him. He supports you. He has been to every meeting since the beginning even though he doesn’t believe in your cause. He would lay down his life for you, and you can’t make it to an opening because you don’t know the bastard he’s painting for? Do you know he has his reasons? His opinions on this may not be as far from yours as you think. You might even approve.” She pointed out, and then she did something that no one had ever done in the midst of a discussion with Enjolras. She walked out, calling out for Bossuet and Joly, and when Enjolras looked in the door her boyfriends were rising, followed promptly by Cosette who smiled at him sweetly (Enjolras sensed more than knew that she’d been making helpful suggestions when Musichetta and Eponine had been plotting and that honestly scared him more than anything). Marius followed her almost instantly without ever taking his eyes off Combeferre, almost like they were bound together by magnetism and he sensed that his home was moving.  
  
Jehan seemed to hesitate for a beat before standing up, softly clapping first Combeferre then Courfeyrac on the shoulder and smiling down at them softly (Enjolras would have to ask them what was going on at some point when his curiosity won over his need to stay out of his friends’ private lives until they chose to confide in him) and joining the others. 6 pairs of eyes looked at him expectantly and Enjolras’ mouth took the stern, defiant set that it was so prone to.  
  
Everyone looked disappointed with the exception of Musichetta who just looked angry. Jehan looked like he’d just been informed that the stars were to be snubbed out one by one until none were left. If Enjolras hadn’t been so annoyed he would’ve felt bad, maybe even ashamed, but they were not going to bully – no blackmail! – him into going to something that he didn’t want. They filed out, and left were only him, Combeferre, Courfeyrac and Feuilly. Enjolras was furious. The faces he was met with when he turned around almost melted his indignant expression straight off his face. Almost.  
  
“Don’t tell me you think I should be there. At an opening for Thenardier of all people? He’s a horrible person, he works against everything we work for, and now Grantaire is a part of his publicity stunt!” he ranted, his voice close to a snarl, and the calmest three of their group of friends looked back at him unblinkingly. “Say something, for all the is good and just, say something, stop just staring at me judgingly.” He growled, flipping a lock of golden hair out of his face. If Grantaire had been there he would probably have made a snarky comment about golden locks and a black soul.  
  
Courfeyrac was the first to speak. “Did you ever wonder if R has his own ways of working things? Enjolras, I think he’s got something planned, but I can’t guarantee it. You know he always hides it when he wants to do something good. He doesn’t want us to think he cares.” He pointed out, his voice soft and warm and very Courfeyrac. Enjolras felt his anger seep out of him slowly, grasping onto it desperately because letting go of it now meant admitting that he’d been wrong.  
  
“He should tell me. Besides, it doesn’t help us at all if he gives a beautiful painting to that bastard. He wants to show that he’s not a homophobe by buying it, Grantaire is playing straight into his disgusting, misogynist, homophobic hands by doing this.”  
  
Courfeyrac’s pointed look had him wavering. “I… You think I’m wrong.”  
  
Feuilly coughed to hide a laugh.  
  
“ _What?!_ ”  
  
Combeferre, as always the voice of reason and gentleness, put a hand on Enjolras’ arm, “Don’t snap at Feuilly. Your expression is rather delightful. Go to him. You know you should be there. His art means a lot to him, you know that the times he has a project are the only times he’s really happy. You know it helps with his condition.”  
  
Enjolras almost managed not to roll his eyes. But only almost. “You can say alcoholism, Combeferre, I’m trying to help him through it.”  
  
“Then go.”  
  
Enjolras swallowed as it dawned on him that he was letting Grantaire down by not being there with him now, not participating in his joy when this was one of the longest periods of time Grantaire had ever gone sober in the time Enjolras had known him. Feuilly had already picked up his red coat and was holding it out for him when Enjolras crossed the room in long strides, and Courfeyrac whooped behind him as his three favourite people in the world (except for Grantaire, of course) stood up to follow him, and he noted that he’d buy them extra great Christmas-presents this year for being so patient with him when he was being a major idiot.  
  
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
  
Grantaire had been looking for Enjolras for nearly an hour now. He tried not to show it, of course, because Eponine and Musichetta (and Cosette’s, Grantaire suffered no illusions that Cosette wasn’t a force to be reckoned with, she was probably the most sadistic of them all) would have Enjolras’ head (more than they were already planning if the subdued whispering and dagger-glares against the door were anything to go by) if he showed that he was actually a bit disappointed that his boyfriend hadn’t made it.  
  
That didn’t mean that he wasn’t, though. He was a bit hurt that Enjolras held so little faith in him even after they’d started dating, because before that he had been used to Enjolras’ scathing comments, but he’d sort of hoped that that had changed. He’d hoped that he’d dropped enough hints for Enjolras to understand that he was planning something, but he obviously hadn’t. Because Enjolras was an idiot with clues and hints, and Grantaire should have known that. That didn’t soothe the sting, though, as he walked between his paintings, keeping an eye on Bahorel and Eponine, because even though the others may be fooled, Grantaire wasn’t. Something was definitely going on, and though Bahorel wouldn’t be Grantaire’s first choice to be someone’s doting boyfriend (he’d be his first choice in a drinking contest, in a fight, in a pun-making-contest, in basically anything ever except for that because Bahorel was awesome) he was definitely fun and positive and maybe even distracting enough that Eponine wouldn’t be so gloomy and she could definitely do with more laughter in her life.  
  
They weren’t that far away when Thenardier entered, and though Enjolras didn’t think he cared, Grantaire actually felt a strong surge of anger at the look of the bastard who had a small rainbow-emblem clipped to his shirt. It was nauseating in a way that Grantaire’s hangovers had never managed to be. Grantaire wanted to run right over, rip it off his shirt and shove it into his eye. That was probably a bit violent, but Grantaire was angry with Enjolras and Thenardier was a lot easier to hate than Grantaire’s stupid boyfriend.  
  
The painter took a deep breath when the politician spotted him, and he put on his best smile (which was more of a half-smile really, because there was only that much acting-skill in Grantaire and he wasn’t wasting it on this bastard.) “Mr. Thenardier, sir, it’s a privilege to finally meet such a friend and ally of my community.” He said, definitely not gritting his teeth and wanting to scrub his brain free of this feeling of bowing and scraping to such a dick.  
  
“Yes, yes, splendid, beautiful picture, Grantaire, absolutely stunning.” Thenardier said, his gestures wide and over-done. Obviously he was just as uncomfortable Grantaire was.  
  
“That’s not your picture.” Grantaire remarked, catching out of the corner of his eye that Bahorel and Eponine had inched closer, Eponine standing with her back to her father. Grantaire knew how much she hated the old crook.  
  
Thenardier looked miffed but turned to the one Grantaire was pointing at and his smile grew. “Oh, such colors! The passion! It’s magnificent, amazing!” he exclaimed, and Grantaire only barely managed not to hurl all over the old goat.  
  
“Well why don’t you just marry it already, you probably could before they legalize gay marriage here.” Grantaire said pointedly, thankful that there was a journalist in the near vicinity who seemed to hear it, and he revelled in Thenardier’s strained laugh. Great. If he was going to be uncomfortable, so was the old bastard.  
  
A loud snort was heard in the near vicinity and Grantaire didn’t even have to look to know it was Eponine. Of course the idiot in front of him did not notice her laughter, because how would he have known it? He rarely saw his children, and they certainly didn’t laugh when he was present. Grantaire almost smirked, but barely managed not to.  
  
The eerie feeling of being watched started creeping up the back of his neck, and after a while (he didn’t want to take his eyes of Thenardier, because he truly didn’t trust the man not to stab him to death) he finally succumbed and turned his head. His heart leapt to his throat and he almost teared up a little bit, because right there in the doorway, visibly fighting to contain himself (that vein was throbbing in his forehead again, never a good sign with Enjolras) his boyfriend stood, and Grantaire wanted to say to hell with it and run to him because there was no place he’d rather be than in Enjolras’ arms. He didn’t, though, just smiled at him softly and turned his face back to Thenardier, suddenly much more calm because Enjolras was angry enough for both of them and Grantaire felt it all melt away.  
  
He felt a smirk coming on, barely repressing it, as he refocused on the conversation, cocking his head a little bit. “You’re really lucky that this was a commission actually, you’d never have gotten it otherwise. You have no idea how much money I’ve been offered for this picture. I had my ass liked for this.” He said, revelling in being able to use all the puns he wanted and watching the almost pained look on Thenardier’s face as the old bastard was probably envisioning just that. “No it’s true, I can see that you don’t believe me, people really wanted it, I was basically bent over for this painting.”  
Thenardier’s face darkened slightly, and Grantaire could sense Enjolras drawing nearer, obviously a bit scared of coming too close lest he managed to murder the politician by accident. “It’s a magnificent picture, right? Doesn’t it just make you want to _cum_ all over it?” he asked, grin turning downright shit-eating when he felt Enjolras’ arm around his waist, and he pressed against him just a little bit, enjoying the support.  
  
“So, how much will I be paying for your hours, my good artist? I’ll of course pay you for the hours you spent plus the final product, don’t want you to feel cheated, eh?” Thenardier said, trying to win back his ground, and Grantaire decided that it was soon time for the final blow.  
  
He shrugged slightly, feigning indifference and said: ”I’m all about Work Hard Play Hard, I was washing paint out of the most un _holy_ places through the time I was working on this picture. I believe fifty thousand would be fair, seeing as I’m fairly famous by now. Wouldn’t you agree?” the journalist from earlier drew nearer, and Grantaire was already feeling the victory when he saw Thenardier gritting his teeth, and right next to them he heard a loud boom of laughter that could only come from Bahorel. He chanced a look to see Eponine sobbing with laughter into his shoulder, probably trying not to show her face in case her father should turn around and look at her. “You can just write a check.” He added when Thenardier still seemed to be gritting his teeth.  
  
“Actually I’d prefer to pay in cash.” Thenardier half-way growled, and Grantaire arched an eyebrow, realizing that the money would probably be pulled out of some firm or bank-account that Thenardier definitely shouldn’t be using as he pleased. All the better.  
  
“Lovely, I drew up a contract – you can understand that since I said no to other commissions to do this I’ll want to be certain the money’s all mine.” He pointed out, pulling from his pocket a “contract” written on a crumbled magazine-page. He straightened it out neatly and put it against the wall. Thenardier’s face visibly drained of colour when he saw what was pictured on the page. A couple of semi-naked men in a warm embrace, passionately kissing. “Sorry, I didn’t have anything else.” Grantaire said, his grin making it quite obvious that it was a massive lie, and he heard Enjolras snort with laughter next to him, obviously starting to enjoy himself. The set of Thenardier’s jaw told Grantaire that he was seconds form imploding, and he was enjoying himself more than he had in a long time (not for lack of trying on Enjolras’ part, their sex-life had been _fantastic_ with all that anger Enjolras was taking out on his ass – literally.)  
  
The fists of the politician shook when he signed, having no other choice when the journalist was there (Grantaire was pretty sure she should either have that cough looked at or that she was trying not to laugh her ass off). And just as it was signed Grantaire left Enjolras’ comforting warmth and snatched it. “Lovely picture, isn’t it? I believe Enjolras and I replicated it pretty accurately when I did this picture. Those handprints on there? Well, I was serious about working hard and playing hard. That was some hard play, remember Enjolras? I was almost limping the day after, my ass was SO sore from that pounding… Honestly I think there might be quite a lot of cum on there, but it makes a nice effect, doesn’t it? It really shows that you have nothing against our kind if you’d hang this in your living-room, we’ve been doing _all_ sorts of debauched things in front of this picture – even on it at some point, I didn’t have any more sheets, so yeah. That was a fun night.”  
  
For just a second Grantaire thought Thenardier was about to faint. Or maybe die from a heart attack. Then he realized that the man was trying not to blow up in front of the journalist. “Oh… and by the way… at one point he even sucked my dick while I was painting because he fucking hates your disgusting homophobic ass so much. It was glorious, he’s got such a pretty mouth – did you know he just got promoted to junior campaign manager for your fiercest opponent Fantine Fauchelevent? Her campaign manager absolutely adores him, which is completely understandable because he’s got a magnificent ass and face. He’s coming for you, you’re going down.” he drawled, taking great pleasure in seeing the other man turn beet-red. He expected the blow, but none the less it made his head whip around and he felt something crack in his nose. Oh well. Another broken nose, it didn’t matter. It was all for the greater good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Not really a cliff-hanger this time. I think I'm making this a three-chapter installment unless I get more ideas. Enjolras' reaction and stuff like that in the next chapter. Hope you enjoyed reading, 'cause I sure as hell enjoyed writing.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Yes, I'm so upset with how bad I've become at writing smut that I'm stopping this right before the actual intercourse. I'm sorry guys, I just can't bring myself to write it.


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